In October 2024, Project RENEW welcomed the Veterans For Peace (VFP) Chapter 160 tour group to Quang Tri Province. Among the visitors was Craige Edgerton, a U.S. Marine Corps veteran.

In 1969, Mr. Edgerton was stationed at Firebase Fuller (Dong Ha Mountain), manning 105mm howitzers overlooking the northern countryside. Fifty-five years later, he returned to that same soil – not as a soldier, but as a pilgrim seeking peace.

While visiting a family in Gio Linh Township – just miles from his old post – he met Nguyen Duc Rin (“Mr. Rin”), a 29-year-old man born with severe disabilities due to Agent Orange. Mr. Edgerton arrived expecting to offer comfort to a victim. Instead, he found himself being the one who was healed.

The following is his personal reflection on that meeting.

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Mr. Rin
By Craige Edgerton

The centerpiece of the tapestry was about to be woven in, and I was unprepared for it. In Quang Tri, we visited the home of a Vietnamese family in Gio Linh Township with a child born with severe disabilities, the result of exposure to Agent Orange. He was 29 years old, had never had mobility or control of his body, was unable to speak, and required full-time care. His parents were very poor, and his mother was unable to work as she was his full-time caretaker.

The home was barely livable by American standards and modest even by rural Vietnamese standards. But it was clean, orderly, and functional for this impoverished family. We were given a summary of this family’s situation before arriving, but no level of preparation was adequate for what we found.

The young man, Nguyen Duc Rin, was on a concrete platform with a small pad and blanket beneath him. I guessed it was for sanitary purposes as he had no control over his bodily functions. He could roll his head with only minimal control, and although he tried to focus his eyes, it was almost impossible. After a short introduction from the mother, she invited us to visit her son.

One person in our group, Tony, a long-term nurse, immediately stepped forward to interact with Mr. Rin. The rest of us held back, not sure what to do. I found it hard to see this person as someone I could communicate with. I had only one other close encounter with a young girl in California in a similar situation, and although severe, she was more functional than Rin.

A couple of others took turns, one at a time, approaching him, holding his hand, saying a few comforting words (which he couldn’t understand because of his disabilities, and we spoke English), and trying to make any possible connection. As he rolled his eyes and head, he appeared pleased with our visit. His mother had given us clues about his reactions and said that she could communicate with him only through his eyes.

I was reluctant at first to approach him. But a little voice inside my head asked: “Isn’t this why you came to Vietnam? What are you afraid of? Get over there and connect with that young man. There is a gift for you in doing so.” I recognized the voice and trusted it. I approached him with almost reverence, not understanding why. After all, it was just one human connecting with another one. But it turned out to be much more than that.

His hand waved back and forth with no control. I took it and held it for a few seconds. It was very soft as he had never been able to use it. He rolled his eyes, trying to find me and focus. Eventually, he was able to stabilize them, and we were able to connect.

The deformities seemed to disappear as I looked deeply into his eyes. There was a moment when we seemed to know each other, or at least I could see him as a person, not his deformities.

I’ll never know what he was thinking or if he had any thoughts at all. All I can hope for is that he experienced some connection with me, too.

I whispered a few words and thanked him for the deep connection that I experienced. With that, his eyes rolled back, and we lost the eye-to-eye connection. I gently squeezed his hand once more and left the room. As I slowly returned to the group in the other room, I was overcome with emotion. I wasn’t crying, but basking in a deep personal connection that I have rarely experienced. Something had happened to me, and I didn’t understand it. I looked for a place to sit down and found a small cinder block wall.

I sat down as my knees were about to abandon me. Jan could see the stress on my face and came to sit next to me. That’s when it hit. I placed my face in the palms of my hands, eyes closed, to try and steady myself. A scene suddenly appeared in my mind that I was not prepared for.

I was on a firebase, similar to the ones I was on during my first time in Vietnam. It was a bare hilltop with 105 MM howitzers lined up in formation. It was hot and dusty, and sand-bagged bunkers were spread throughout. Large, bright white flashes, like flashbulbs in old cameras, were going off all around, and for just a moment, I was back in 1969. There was no sound, and no other Marines were seen. It was just me standing alone, observing the flashing lights on that firebase. The scene was vivid, and I felt like I was there, not as an observer, but as a participant. It only lasted a second or two, but the intensity of it was stamped into my mind’s eye. I don’t think I can ever forget those few moments.

As the scene disappeared, I paused momentarily to try to understand what had just happened. I had no clue. It was completely unexpected and unplanned. That is when I started to weep silently at first and then more intensely. What did it mean? Where did it come from? Why did it have such an impact on me? I know it is important, but what do I do with it? The emotions rolled over and through me, and I let them be whatever it was. I didn’t try to stop it, control it, or figure out what it was. For the time being, I let it be. I’d figure out the meaning in due time.

Jan placed her hand on my leg to let me know she was there, and I started to regain my sense of place. For that short moment, I had traveled to another time, another place. The message was received but has not yet been interpreted. I knew that if I let it be, the meaning would reveal itself in time.

Mickey sat down on the other side of me from Jan and placed his hand on my shoulder. He had served in the same area at about the same time as me, and even though he didn’t understand exactly what had happened in my mind, he understood the impact on me. There is a bond with comrades in arms that is hard to explain but is real. He was feeling the emotion with me. We met each other’s eyes, and nothing more needed to be said. We both understood.

Lou, another veteran who was not in combat, also came over and touched my shoulder. I gladly accepted his offer of support as I looked up at him. His innate compassion touched me and helped me get grounded. I tried to get up and join the rest of the group, but I wasn’t quite ready. I remained sitting on the short wall, trying to find meaning in the intense experience I had just had.

What was that all about? The location and time were obvious, but why did it come right after meeting with the Agent Orange victim, Mr. Rin? What was the connection, if any? I trusted that little knowing voice inside me would eventually help me understand. As I sat there asking the questions, I began to get the answer. The young man represented all my guilt, anger, remorse, embarrassment, shame, and any other negative feelings I had about my time and place in the war. He held all that for me, and by connecting through our eyes, he forgave me, which allowed me to release all those old feelings. I heard: “It’s okay. We all forgive you.” And for the first time in over 55 years, I understood. If he could forgive me after what we had done to him, it was time for me to forgive myself.

When I realized the importance of what had happened, I could feel the release in my body. It felt like a long-overdue shower washing away all the baggage I had been carrying for so long. And that is when the tears really started to flow. The tears became a shower, washing away the hurt I had hauled around all these years. That hurt had become a part of me. Fifty-five years washed away in less than a few minutes. I was weaving a new tapestry with fresh yellow yarn and a different picture of forgiveness and redemption. And this young, disfigured man was at the center of that new tapestry.

Trying to explain this profound experience rationally is beyond me. I am not a psychologist and do not understand how the mind works in situations like this. However, I have life experience and know that seemingly unrelated events can catalyze change. I had made up a story, true or not, about my time in Vietnam, and it was only through connecting with this young man that I was able to create a different one. I recognized that I was seeking a new story. I was ready for any possibility. Without that intention on my part, I doubt I would have been able to recognize the new story being presented to me.

Initially, I claimed I had no expectations for this trip, but I soon realized I did. This event was the central expectation I had. I wanted to find closure to all my hurt and pain for so many years, and I found it in a severely impacted victim of Agent Orange. That is not how I expected it to unfold, but I was ready because I focused on my intention. And I’m so glad I did!

I’m sure I will never see Mr. Rin again, but he is forever in my heart. I wish I could share my experience with him and tell him how much he meant to me. I plan to reconnect with him by providing help for his family through VFP #160. Thank you, Mr. Rin!

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Since that meeting in October, the bond between Craige and Rin’s family has remained strong. Through the coordination of Project RENEW and VFP 160, Mr. Edgerton has committed to providing a monthly stipend to support Rin’s mother, Ms. Ha, ensuring the family has stability and resources for Rin’s care.